


First Watch

by MyBloodyUnicorn



Category: Dredd (2012), Judge Dredd (Comics), Judge Dredd - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-05-02 04:09:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5233535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyBloodyUnicorn/pseuds/MyBloodyUnicorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She’d heard rumors Dredd was unreadable, impervious to any psi abilities. But for the moment she met him, she’d always sensed something, something he held down beneath his control. She knew there was something more and now she’s determined to find out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Watch

**Author's Note:**

> [I took a few liberties combining details from the comics and the 2012 movie.]

They weren’t _partners_ , Anderson told herself. That was the old way, the way of the city that used to be, before the time of the Judges. Having a partner encouraged fraternization, kept Judges distracted, kept them from caring about things besides the law. That’s what Anderson told herself.

_Not partners._

For two nights now, they sat in what appeared to be a rotted, rusting Winnebago, tucked in under the skedway, surrounded by the trash and debris of the city. Inside, the surveillance van was fully kitted out by Tech Judges, with equipment for tracking anyone.  

“Got anything?” Dredd asked.

She shook her head. “I don’t sense them anywhere nearby.”

“All this gear,” he muttered. “Useless.”

The Justice Department could find anyone using the thousands of facial-recognition cameras in every corner of the Big Meg but these perps were different. Muties, with an ability no one had ever seen before. They could change appearance in any way—height, weight, facial features—and they were walking out of every bank in the city with bags full of cash.

The sound of their thoughts, however, never changed. A person’s inner voice couldn’t be disguised, couldn’t be changed. It was constant. It didn’t always match the person outside but it was always the same and once she’d heard it, she could pick it out again.

She closes her eyes and listens to the citizens’ thoughts as they pass.

_Cat food! Grud, I forgot cat food — wonder if she’ll be home when I get back after — something something, how’s that song go — what’s the point of —_

She opens her eyes again.

“I got nothing yet,” she says. “I’ll take first watch.”

“Don’t need to,” he says. “The law doesn’t sleep.”

She pauses. “Could be here a while. I’ll know as soon as they’re within fifty meters of this place.” She looks at her own face in his visor, not knowing whether she’s looking him in the eye.

After a moment, he nods and she keeps her face from betraying the slightest interest.

“Two hours,” he says. She knows she won’t have to wake him, that in two hours’ time he will simply be awake again. He folds his arms and drops his scarred chin to his chest.

Then she waits. She unzips her jacket in the small, stuffy space. She folds her hands in her lap, closes her eyes, and mentally scans her body, from the top of her head to the soles of her feet, releasing her awareness of herself until there is no self left, only the thoughts of those around her.

She hasn’t crept into anyone’s dreams since her time at the Academy. The first few times, it was an accident. Her bunkmate was prone to vivid dreams, dreams that eventually became waking hallucinations. The girl washed out and had been in and out of the Psych-Cubes ever since, last Anderson heard. At the Hall of Justice, Judges usually grab a few hours under a sleep machine and the induced rest is dreamless. She hasn’t tried it for so long, she isn’t even sure she can still do it.

She listens to the sound of him breathing and matches it, _inhale, exhale_. And then she hears it. She thinks it’s a bit like pressing her ear to a wall to eavesdrop: someone’s there and although it’s muffled, she can still sense the mood, the tone of what’s being said: crying, or shouting, or… laughter.

She hears laughter, the high-pitched laughter of a small child.

 _Vienna_. She feels the name rather than hearing it.

She wills the image to come into focus. At first, it’s little more than gray shapes moving then color and light fill in the rest.

A girl, no more than seven, rides a swing, her wheat-colored hair streaming behind her.

 _Look!_ the girl calls out. _Look! Look at me! Look at me, Uncle Joe!_

Anderson nearly loses her focus. _Uncle?_ She forces herself to concentrate.

Being inside someone’s dream is different from being inside their thoughts. There’s no interaction, no exchange of thoughts; dreams are only observation, standing just a step behind, looking over a shoulder.

The girl drags her feet along the ground to stop, springs to her feet and races over. She looks up, hazel eyes squinting in the sun. To Anderson’s amazement, he bends down and picks the girl up and she can sense how light the girl feels to him. And Anderson feels this rush of love, like a fist squeezing in her chest, but she realizes it’s love mixed with something else, something like sadness.

 _I missed you!_ The girl throws her arms around his neck. _I missed you... why haven’t you come back? Why didn’t you come back, Uncle Joe?_

The girl leans back to look at his face and her cheeks are mottled red, tear-streaked.

 _Why didn’t you come back?_ The girl’s voice deepens, sounding more like a grown woman. _Are you that heartless? Are you just a soulless machine?_

He shakes his head and Anderson can feel him trying to speak, though he’s choked by guilt and sorrow. He tries to hold this girl closer to him but in an instant, she’s vanished. When Anderson looks up, the playground has flooded with people, all talking, moving, crowding his way.

 _Vienna?_ He calls to her and starts to walk through the crowd but even more people appear, closing in all around him. They grow larger as they approach, towering over him. His feet feel rooted to the spot.

 _Vienna?_ He tries to shove his way through the crowd, and Anderson can feel him tamping down his panic.

_Vienna!_

Anderson’s eyes open. Her heart thuds beneath her body armor. She stares out through the grimy windscreen of the vehicle, afraid to look over at him, as if somehow he might know what she’s done, what she knows about him now.

Slowly, she turns to face him, only to find he is still asleep. His arms lay across his chest which rises and falls at the same pace it did before. She waits for him to move or twitch in his sleep, suddenly knowing that if he showed the slightest sign of distress, she would wake him in an instant.

She watches him sleep, her hand poised to reach him, but he simply goes on sleeping.

 

 


End file.
